


Thrill Of The Hunt

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gore, M/M, Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7459863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ocelot can’t find any peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrill Of The Hunt

Ocelot can’t find any peace. 

His heart hasn’t stopped hammering in his chest ever since they took Snake away back to his cell. He can’t stop thinking of Snake, his desperate screams as electricity coursed through him, the smell of singed hair and scorched flesh. His howl when the bullet ripped his eye out. He never wanted for it to happen, but he can’t truly find it in himself to be sorry for it.

He has also never been this hard in his life. 

That’s why he slithers quietly down to the brig, hands shaking as he unlocks the cell and locks it behind him. 

Snake is lying on his back on the narrow bed, breathing quietly. He’s not passed out anymore. Just sleeping. 

Ocelot steps closer, sits on the edge of the bed. 

Snake _reeks_. Sweat, blood, burned hair, piss. Blood is matted into his beard, tear trails cut into the dirt on his cheek. 

His right eye is gone, his socket a mangled lump of burned flesh, blood still trailing down his temple and soaking the pillow. 

Ocelot wants to touch it. 

He doesn’t. His gloved hand brushes Snake’s cheekbone, the lightest of touches. Snake makes a small noise, startling him. 

He looks at his lips. That soft, plump mouth he’s been dreaming around his cock since the day he’s met him. His breath smells of cigar, blood, and ozone. It’s disgusting.

Ocelot bites his bottom lip, his free hand sliding down to his crotch, kneading his painful erection through his pants.

“Snake,” he whispers, thumbing his lips.

Snake’s brow furrows, his breath deepening. 

“Snake.” Ocelot’s hand slides down his chin, over his throat.

He’s so insanely beautiful. 

“Snake,” he growls, fingers closing around his throat, squeezing. “Wake up.”

Snake slowly stirs under him, his breath hitching under his palm as pain awakens with him. 

His left eye cracks open. Despite it all, the sapphire blue is clear and aware. 

“O...celot,” he breathes.

“Shhh.”

He dips and finally gets a taste of those lips. The moustache tickles. His lips are chapped and bloody. Ocelot licks them hungrily, and nearly comes in his pants as they part and all of a sudden Snake is kissing back, scorching his tongue with a crackle of residual electricity. 

A large, heavy hand grabs his thigh like a vise. The other closes around his arm, pulls him closer. 

Breathless, Ocelot finds himself straddling Snake, his knees almost slipping off the tiny frame of the bed. Snake kisses him so hard Ocelot tastes blood, and he’s not sure whose it is. 

“Filthy...American...dog,” he hisses in Snake’s mouth, biting his bottom lip. 

Snake’s hands clamp on his ass and _squeezes_. Ocelot yowls softly, grinding against Snake’s body. Even through the layers of clothes, he can feel him, hard and throbbing and needy, and it drives him crazy. It’s like he’s in heat, and he can’t stop. 

“Bad kitty,” growls Snake, craning his neck to bite his neck. It’s not a gentle bite, it feels like he’s trying to tear a piece out of him. Ocelot mewls, panting, holding on for dear life. 

He’s so _strong_. This half blind, injured, bruised and beaten man could kill him without a thought, snap his neck, bite out his throat. But he’s not, he’s bucking under him, grinding him into his crotch, growling like a hungry beast. 

He comes like he’s the one being hit by lightning now, eyes rolling into the back of his head and breath stuck in his chest, Snake grunting into his neck as he finishes with one last long, drawn push. 

He’s limp and slipping back into slumber before Ocelot is even done shivering and climbs off the bed. His legs shake, the front of his uniform warm and sticky. 

He bites off the tip of his glove and pulls it off. He runs the back of his fingers over Snake’s bloodied cheek. He’s warm, hot, even. But his skin is soft. 

With a sigh, he slides off his scarf. He ties it tight around Snake’s head, padding it as best as he can over his destroyed eye. Dark stains blossom through the crimson silk immediately, but at least it’s not leaking all over anymore. 

He presses his lips just underneath the wound. He pulls his glove back on, a speck of Snake’s blood and warmth trapped in his palm.

“See you soon, Snake.”

He has no doubt he’ll see him again. He almost can’t wait.


End file.
